x93There are no real women left.x94 Spring is the perfect time to write about women:  itx92s the time men urge to mate, to flirt or just even glance at all the skirts and dresses. And not only women, but lately men have the same conclusion: x93There are no mates left.x94
Closer examination shows they realize there are single women left, but the desire for the exotic is higher than ever before among my male entourage.

Dutch women are frigid, poorly dressed and usually have no ass at all. This is the verdict of friend S., but S. did not finish his list yet. He desires a x93realx94 woman. If you look up x93real womanx94 in the dictionary, the description reads: x93Beautiful women. Curvy women, curvy on the right places (nowhere else than ass and bust).x94 Okay, it doesnx92t actually say that, but just indulge me on this one.

 He thinks he has no impossible demanding at all. He rather stays alone than settle for less. His motto: x93Why settle for something less when you can get the best?x94
Of course this is the biggest contradictory ever because his best looks like Adrina Lima (but another Vicotria Secretx92s Angel satisfies as well x93if necessaryx94.), has a personal stylist, cooks like Jamie Oliver and recognizes Maradonna from a line-up of ten fat Argentine men.

And so, wex92ve established that universe. Of course every time I get a drink with my male friends we talk about women. Strangely men talk a lot more about sex and love than you would say. From tales I conclude: we have a desperate shortage of such ladies.

Turning my head left and right I see beautiful women. Women who turn even more gorgeous each year. They could be serious competition if I had no love in my life. Nowadays an average woman has a well paid job or access to a great career, a time-consuming hobby and time left to look nice. Just because everybody is so perfect, men have high expectations. Wex92ve always had an almost naxefve belief in the idea that looking great was for the best, being perfect was something to offer the rest of the world.

Being perfect must be a miscellaneous experience. You exist only to be really, really loved or really, really despised. Imperfections make us love each other and make us appreciate each other.

Why not celebrate us being NOT perfect. Imperfections make us REAL.